


fears, tell me fears, don't get me started

by rosemallows



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Aged-Up Losers Club (IT), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Autumn, Based on that one Tiktok trend, Bonfires, Coming of Age, Falling In Love, High School, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Post-IT (2017), Post-Pennywise (IT), Pumpkin Picking, Teenagers, fall activities, fear of growing up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:48:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26991658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosemallows/pseuds/rosemallows
Summary: "Eddie Spaghetti! Are you awake? Over.”"Of course I’m awake. Why? And don’t call me that, dickwad. Over.”"Get dressed. And bring your bike and bed sheets. We’re going on an adventure, just you and me! Over."In a fit of a teenage existential crisis, Richie Tozier makes the impulsive decision to sneak out of his house on a fall evening and bring the only other person he trusts along to humor him that night.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 10
Kudos: 72





	fears, tell me fears, don't get me started

**Author's Note:**

> I projected my own fears onto Richie in this story because I've been told that I act very much like Richie Tozier.

The window of Richie Tozier’s bedroom was open just slightly; enough to let in the chilly air of the mid-October night. It was a Friday night, where other teenagers his age were preparing for their Halloween parties and out on dates at the local movie theater. Perhaps, if he were not such a loser, he could be out, participating in these events and guzzling down beers and smoking cigarettes with the non losers at these parties. But he wasn’t. Instead, the fifteen year old boy lay flat on his back on his twin size bed as the open window right next to him nipped his bare arms. Headphones sported his quite thickly growing mess of curls, and his yellow walkman sat by his pillow while he silently hummed the songs by Tears For Fears. Arms crossed behind his head atop his pillow; he ignored the textbooks and notebooks strewn about carelessly on his carpeted floor, begging him to complete their contents before Monday came forth. He spent maybe five minutes on his trigonometry problems before subbing notebook paper for comic books and potato chips. 

This night would be one of those nights; Richie was left to fend for his own entertainment which frankly was not as fun as pestering Stan and Eddie to death. But as the music blared in his ears, and his mind wandered without any distraction, he thought about _It._ Its horrors and cravings and trauma it brought upon all of them. Just for a second. 

His eyes opened.

Those events were two years ago, and much has changed since then, namely his size, build, and voice. He’d grown much taller than anticipated and his voice deepened as expected, but he never had felt a shift in his own personality. He’d suppressed the fears that the damned clown had given him, stuffing it away in the back of his mind to not touch again, and did his best to focus on his friends- his family. But at times it felt as though these friends were too busy. It was as if the world around him was consistently growing and changing but he still felt completely the same. The amount of workload that school pressed on him and his friends made it frankly difficult to set up official times for hanging out, and persisting after-school clubs or jobs often separated their schedule up. These new expectations and responsibilities left a dejected imprint on Richie.

They were all running out of time. Running out of time to go on adventures as children; out of time to be rebellious and not have adults expect anything from them. Running out of time to be young before he’s expected to make his own money and pay his own rent and actually take his education seriously. Who knew how long he had until Eddie grew away from him, too?

Richie turned on his side, toward the window and curled his knees into himself as he gritted his teeth at the imaginations. He watched the streetlights brighten up small parts of the sidewalk and peered at the quiet houses across the street of families watching Halloween movies. Richie’s stomach felt as though it was caving inward at the mere thought of Eddie. For a few years now, it just began to seem so bittersweet; his friendship with Eddie. Every minute with his best friend was nothing less than diverting, but growing older, and spending increased time with him was making his fear much harder to contain. Breathing could sometimes feel like a foreign concept, and that damned clown’s mocking words often rung in his head, swallowing him whole and pushing him away from ever confronting this fear. There was Eddie- the sweet part, and Richie’s own vomit-inducing fear- the bitter part. Yet, despite it, he longed to always be with him and spend time with him. That clown couldn’t ever get to him like that.

His eyes darted back toward the large oak tree right outside of his window, leaves blooming orange and red and discarding its summer green. As the music surged through his skull, a sudden adrenaline burst through his body, causing him to instinctively sit up and raise his window higher for a larger amount of October air to rush in his room. He couldn’t sit here and sulk. He wanted to- no, _needed_ to take his own life into his hands and make the most out of these years before responsibilities and jobs and no more rebelling against age restrictions. The teen peered over his shoulder at the alarm clock on his dresser, the numbers reading 8:43, which was perfect, for Richie’s standards anyway. He stood up from his bed, pushing his thin framed spectacles up on his nose and turning toward the desk in his room, covered in crumpled chip bags and empty mountain dew bottles. He walked toward it, threw his walkman onto the table and scrutinized the mess in search of his more convenient form of communication with his friend until- _“Aha!”_

Richie snatched his walkie talkie from beneath a bag of kettle chips and clicked down on a button, being overwhelmed by excitement. With a smile, he brought the device close to his lips all the while pacing back and forth on his carpeted floor. 

_“Eddie Spaghetti!_ Are you awake? Over.” He held it close to his chest while quickly brainstorming a few ideas. _Halloween._ He went over to his bed, ripping off the pillows and comforters before gathering an entire bundle of his bed sheets into one arm. The walkie crackled and came to life as Eddie Kaspbrak’s endearing, irritated voice came through. 

“Of course I’m awake. Why? And don’t call me that, dickwad. Over.” Richie grinned, gathering the bed sheets into a backpack. He raised the device to his mouth again.

“Get dressed. And bring your bike and bed sheets. We’re going on an adventure, just you and me! Over.” The teenager opened up his closet door, preparing for the October weather.

 _“What!_ Over,” shouted indignantly from the sound device. 

“Do you copy, Eds? I said get dressed! We are not staying in our homes alone on a night like this! We’re making this night our _bitch!_ Richie, out,” he finished. The teenager set the device aside as it spewed out indignant questions and remarks from the five foot six hothead. While Richie ignored his yelping concerns, he dressed up in nearly all black attire to blend in with the night- namely a floral Hawaiian shirt, a black long-sleeve pretty well insulated shirt, gloves and jeans. With his parents cooped up in their rooms, too busy with their own agenda, it would be easy to gather the necessary utensils from the kitchen for this little project of his. Then, with dirty socks on his feet, he padded all the way downstairs for the pumpkin carving kit his father had bought a few days ago- still untouched and new. The fifteen year old found it resting by the basket of fruit in the dining room. He ripped it open, bundling up the tools into a more sizable ziploc for his journey, grabbed two large spoons from the cabinet, and stuffed them all into his backpack before heading back upstairs. He quietly passed by his parents’ room, noting the TV, which was left on, and the couple fast asleep in their beds on this Friday night. Richie walked past them and crept back into his now freezing room. The boy scratched his head quickly, then went to put on his sneakers and attach his walkie talkie onto the back of his jeans. For a moment, the Trashmouth pondered any other materials that would be important for this adventure, then recalled his flashlight, which, luckily, was still full of juice for the night.

He climbed over his disastrous bed, backpack straps gripped tightly, and cold air nipping his nose, and swung his legs out his window. His feet landed on the portico right below the window frame, and the teenager squatted his body fully down onto the angled platform. He breathed out quickly, smiling afterwards as the frigid temperatures engulfed him. The weather was perfectly cold. Conveniently underneath the awning of his house was the stretching branch of the front yard oak tree, which he was making a beeline for. Richie slid himself down the roof, butt dragging down the panels. It was bumpy and quite uncomfortable. As he sat on the edge, he plopped his legs onto the unsteady limb of the tree stretching below the portico. He perched onto the tree quickly, using one hand to steady himself onto the obstacle, and the other to squeeze his backpack strap closer to himself.

While making sure he was stable, the boy reached for his speaking device and whispered, “I’m on my way now, Eddie. Over.” Adventure and adrenaline surged through his veins once he sealed his sentence, as if speaking that out into the air completely confirmed that he was really doing this. He could not stop a grin from splitting his face wide at the prospect of his plans for the night. His eyes casted down onto the lone bike that leaned against the wide oak tree. He carefully pulled himself down from the branch he was on to climb down to the next. He repeated this, ensuring his safety back onto solid ground. Once he was within reasonable height, Richie leaped down, feet smacking against the grass. The materials in his backpack crashed together, but the quiet wind carried the noise away. He headed for his bike, concluded that the bike lights were still indeed working, and propped it back up to walk it down the driveway. He turned his head to take in the sight of his dimly lit home; his childhood place, a home he’d eventually leave forever. He averted his gaze toward his quiet neighborhood, scanning its silence, and bid it farewell for the night. As soon as that front tire touched the road, he swung his leg over, hopped up on his seat, and pedaled with the eagerness of his thirteen year old self on his way to Eddie Kaspbrak. 

His smile still hung onto his face, right as the air whipped through his curls, telling him all the adventures he could go on.

  
  


* * *

Richie arrived at the Kaspbrak residence in record time, screeching his bicycle to a halt once his lights caught sight of Sonia Kaspbrak’s car. And, luckily, because of these transceivers, he hadn’t a need to throw pebbles at Eddie’s window until he opened them anymore.

Before Richie could, endearingly, make a quip about Sonia into the speaker to entice the boy out of the house, he caught sight of his friend walking his bike down his driveway, light shining in the little comedian’s face. The window to his room was left wide open, curtains billowing about in his room. At once, he noticed the dark brown beanie hiding away Eddie’s thicker grown hair, which was much curlier than it had once been before, and all of the Losers knew that it was Eddie’s way of standing up to his mother- insisting on much messier locks, like Rich’s, rather than keeping it clean and tidy and straight like he had at thirteen. Eddie’s eyebrows were furrowed, as usual, curious brown eyes staring right at him. He was wearing a hoodie and jeans and sneakers that were double knotted to perfection. 

Richie smiled wide, eyes faltering up and down and stomach flipping at the sight. This was _normal._ Best friends always felt this fluttery with each other. 

“What are you up to, Rich?” inquired the recovering germaphobe as he approached him. His friend waved him off with one gloved hand.

“My, my, you ask far too many questions, fellow chap,” he replied in one of his exaggerated British voices, reaching out and flicking his finger against the boy’s nose- to which he smacked his hand away in protest. “Just have faith in your ol’ mate, now would you?”

“Dude, this is so last minute! I just snuck out of my house. My mom doesn’t even know I’m with you now! If she comes out the door right now for whatever reason, you will not see me again for the next six months!”

Richie rolled his eyes at his persistent ramblings. Nonetheless, he persevered and wrapped an arm around his shorter friend, deciding to do what he does best.

“Bro! Relax! Stop being such a worrywart! Your mom knows _all_ about what we’re doing, you’re totally fine.”

Eddie’s shoulders relaxed for a moment, childishly hopeful. “She does?”

“Yeah! After our session last night, she practically—” Eddie pushed Richie off of him while he cackled obnoxiously into the night.

“Har har har, dipshit, you’re so funny,” he deadpanned, turning away from his sniggling friend and squeezing his hands onto his handlebars. “Come up with some new material, would you?”

“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it!” Richie answered, once recovered from laughing his ass off. Eddie stared at his house, paranoid about the lights and the distant glow of the TV in his living room. “Not my fault you fall for it every time.”

“Yeah yeah yeah asshole. Let’s just get a move on before she realizes I’m gone.” Eddie turned his bike toward the street and slid himself onto the seat. Rich merely smiled giddily and mounted his bicycle. 

“You got the bedsheets?”

“It’s in my backpack. Why do we even need them?”

“You’ll see, Spaghetti Man. ‘Tis not but a surprise until we get there.” He shot his friend a mischievous grin which made him raise an eyebrow in question.

“Better be worth it.”

“With me around? It’s always worth it, my love,” commented Richie, pedaling off ahead as Eddie followed. The boy shook his head and sucked in a flustering breath as they took off.

* * *

“So, what about the others? Why couldn’t they come?” The pair had been pedaling along the roads for approximately twenty minutes, engaging in mindless conversation about school and the Losers and what was going on in their lives. Richie Tozier had not brought up his grueling crisis about becoming an adult, and with talk about the other members of the Losers’ Club, Eddie had remembered to ask about their arrival. And for some odd reason, Richie just felt _awkward_ explaining why it would be just them. 

“Oh! Um, well,” he began, catching sight of the location. He pushed his glasses up onto his nose. “I mean, well, I thought it would be more fun with just the two of us. Richie and Eddie! You know?” Richie felt his face burn and _goddammit why did he feel so shy it was just Eddie just Eddie not some random stranger his best friend for Christ’s sake and stop stop stop feeling like this for a fucking boy-_

“Oh, cool,” he replies, and Richie thinks he hears a bit of a smile in his voice. “But they might get jealous about missing out, don’t you think?”

Richie rolled his eyes. “I’m sure they won’t even mind. They’re too busy with their lives to make solid plans with us,” he answered with only a hint of bitterness. Richie swallowed the bitterness down and cleared his throat. “Anywho, what we’re doing is good enough for two people. Too many people in on it kills the vibe. You should be grateful I picked you for my plan. Look, we’re here!” Richie’s pedaling slowed to a halt as they turned off a road surrounded by wheat and rows of decorative corn to an entrance of a familiar area everyone’s family in Derry knew of around this time of the year. Eddie slowed behind him, and noticed the darkened wooden sign next to the gated roadway to the farm. _Derry Farm._ And below the giant bold letters, _Open now for pumpkin and apple picking! 9-5pm._

“Richie! This place closes at five. Look, the gate’s locked,” Eddie hissed, stepping down from his bike. A breeze fluttered by them, chasing the wheat around them. “Why here?”

“Like that’s gonna stop us,” Richie replied, getting off of his bike. “I told you, I have a plan.” He began walking the vehicle toward the wheat. “We’re gonna hide our bikes in here. Have you seen how much they charge just to pick plants? Total ripoff.”

Eddie sputtered for a moment, anxiety building up and anticipation roaring in his ears. “We’re stealing pumpkins!? What if we get caught?” He followed Richie with his bike as the other let the wheels fall onto the dirt. 

“We won’t. It’s super dark out and look,” Richie gestured to the large gate, clearly prohibiting cars from entering. “No one’s on guard or anything. All we’re doing is getting some large pumpkins and then we’re on our merry way. What kinda asshole is gonna shoot us for taking pumpkins?”

“That’s it? You brought me out here to go pumpkin picking?” Eddie walked up to Richie, who was digging in his backpack for his flashlight. 

“Relax, the night has only begun,” Richie soothed, staring up at him with innocent eyes, only slightly hurt that Eddie was undermining him. “I’m just trying to make the most of this October, dear boy.” _Another voice._ Eddie blinked, then crossed his arms.

“Well, okay.” _No more protests._ Richie clicked on his flashlight, shining it right at Eddie. “AH! You’re gonna make me go blind, asshole.”

His friend laughed, then turned around and pointed his light toward a section of corn. “Come, come, good sir. We’ll sneak in through a different way.” Eddie hid his bike near the same division of wheat that Richie had, then followed suit. As they brushed their way into the rows of tall, dried corn, Richie could feel Eddie’s breath right on his neck, tickling his skin and stumbling up his stomach. If they were eleven again, Richie would have no problem ripping on him for getting his hot breath on his skin, but any sort of physical affection with his friend suddenly felt like something to cherish and not chase away with dumb words. So, he let it slide, let the smaller one follow insanely close.

Eddie looked up, could see the stars in the night sky and the white moon now high up for him to see; tall stalks of corn nearly stopping him from seeing it all. The snapping of twigs and straw and dead corn crops beneath his feet startled him occasionally, but he refused to let it get to him, only keeping his breathing level with the boy in front of him. Sometimes, Eddie wondered if Richie had ever thought about their summer two years ago. It often felt so far away, yet, Richie never really spoke about it. Now, with the rare times that the Losers could come together, what with Mike being whisked away to farming and set on researching colleges in Florida, Beverly taking up apprenticeships and seeking out fashion scholarships, Bill actually getting a job and, shockingly, joining cross country, Ben joining all the nerdy high school clubs and Stanley being a full-time volunteer at the nursing home, it was getting harder and harder to find the proper time to actually be together. Eddie’s mother refused to let him join any sort of sport, fearing for another broken arm, or worse, his ‘allergies’ could act up again. Richie, however; Richie had the freedom to choose whatever club or sport or even a job he wanted, yet, he didn’t. He simply was Richie. With the occasional cigarette smell and the same twelve songs on his mixtape. They simply had much more free time compared to the others. But when they all were together, there would be moments when someone mentioned that stupid Clown, and everyone would, begrudgingly, acknowledge it; mention the way _It_ lured them with their fears. Richie called the clown nothing but a little bitch and then kept quiet, never once speaking about his personal experience. He simply refused to acknowledge it, and maybe that was just his way of coping. No one really wanted to remember how that monster tortured them.

He watched Richie, rambling off about how boring life has been getting. How he hasn’t fucked a chick in forever. How the ladies are missing out on his massive dick, then laughing and looking over his shoulder at Eddie.

“Shut up,” he replied, in disgust, and also flustering up at that. “That’s so gross.” He didn’t often think about his own friend having sex with other girls. _Who would?_

“That’s not what your mom said,” Richie replied easily. “She loves going down to Tozier Town. Fuckin’ loves it. Can’t get enough.”

“You’re so ridiculous,” Eddie mumbled back, still right at the heels of his friend. “You never even kissed a girl before.” He liked being around Richie, even if his mouth was hard to listen to. Richie was, well, comforting, in some ways that he could not really describe to others. He was super tall now, super tall and super different looking. And Eddie was fine with it. Totally fine.

“Have too!” he answered back, almost defensively. “Brooke Burns. During homecoming last year. Everyone was high as shit, she grabbed me and just laid one on me behind the bleachers. Ask Stan, he’s a witness.” Eddie paused for a moment, looking up at Richie’s head, though he couldn’t quite gauge his expression.

“Huh,” he responded. “Alright.” _Dumbass. That’s the best you could say?_ There was quite a bit of silence then, because, well, Eddie didn’t really like talking about kissing anyway. He hadn’t thought about it, really, and wasn’t too concerned with girls in general. _Richie_ well, seemed to talk about girls all the time. Like that was his whole personality. Kissing girls and having sex with them. Girls girls girls. _Always_ girls. _It_ _was_ _kind of irritating_.

“Hey, we’re almost there, okay? Don’t snooze on me now,” Richie told him in earnest. Eddie could sense the worry in his voice, as if he did not want to disappoint Eddie, which was ridiculous, because the Trashmouth could never disappoint him. “I promise, we’re gonna get these big ass pumpkins and then we’re gonna feast!”

“On the pumpkins?”

“What? Of course not! What kind of a lover would I be if I only fed my sweet, sweet Eds a dirty pumpkin!” Richie gasped dramatically, throwing a cheeky smile his way.

“So many years with you, and yet you still call me that,” Eddie huffs. “And you’re not my lover. Stop doing that!” Eddie held onto the back of Richie’s shirt. _Always girls girls girls._

“You wound me,” Richie laughed, but also felt only a _little_ pang of hurt deep down. This was how it always was with them, the banter, so why did it have to hurt more and more whenever, even jokingly, Eddie rejected him? _Because part of you knows that he means it._ “Aha!” he exclaimed, drowning out these intrusive, totally _not him_ thoughts.

Eddie crashed into him, startling for a second at the instant contact. “What? Are we here?” Richie moved forward, out of the corn field, then gestured toward the rows of pumpkin that his flashlight lit up. He smiled, then bowed, then gestured once more.

“We’re here! Now, why the hell would you pay a bajillion dollars for farmed pumpkins when you could easily get them for free at an ungodly hour of the night? Beats me, people are so dumb,” the teenager announced. Eddie emerged from the corn stalks, scanning the gourds.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

“Believe it, baby!” Richie stalked forward, leaning down to examine one miniature white. He smacked it for comedic effect. “Don’t get the small ones. Or the white ones either. Orange really screams Halloween.” Eddie walked around the patches, spying weird ones with green warts all over them. He recoiled out of habit at the oddity.

“Ew! Rich, look at this shit!” he exclaimed, pointing toward a medium sized one with freaky green bumps. The other teen appeared by his side, flashing his light toward it.

“Ohhh, wicked cool,” he said, mesmerized, then looked at Eddie. “Watch out Eds. That pumpkin has herpes. We don’t want those ones.”

“No shit we don’t want them,” he replied. “These are all small or medium. Where are the big ones?”

“Why Eddie-”

“Yeah, yeah, your _dick is right there,_ I know,” he rolled his eyes. “You’re so predictable.” He lightly punched his friend, who smiled and punched back,

“Aw, finishing my sentences now? You’re so cute.” He expected the boy to reach forward, squish his cheeks up and make kissy-faces at him, but he didn’t; just stared at Eddie with cold-flushed cheeks and a dumb smile. He felt the need to look away otherwise he’d smile back, and then what else could he do? The shorter one circled around the patch, shaking his head, in search of the heavier crops.

“Whatever. So Richie, how big should the pumpkins be?”

“You know, probably about . . . mmm the size of our heads?” Eddie peered over at Richie, who was presenting his head with both arms. “That big.” Eddie nodded, then glanced over at another patch.

“I think there might be fine.” 

“Sweet!” Richie took off toward the direction that Eddie was looking at. The smaller watched his lanky figure leap over a small pile of rotting, crushed pumpkins. It was quite a comical sight to behold; a five foot eleven, fifteen year old boy wearing a black, floral Hawaiian shirt, hopping as high as he could over a moldy pumpkin patch. He liked being around Richie. “Come on!” 

Eddie ran after him, rubbing his red nose with the sleeve of his hoodie. There was a sudden sense of _thrill_ coursing through him now; maybe it was the exhilaration of climbing out of his window so late at night to go on a twenty minute bike ride to a pumpkin patch and trying not to get caught by his mother, or any angry farm owner, or maybe it was just Richie being Richie that always made him feel lighter than air.

He caught up to his friend, then hunched down so that he was level with the gourds. Richie squatted down next to him, breathing out puffs of cold autumn air, then stealing a glance at Eddie, and back down at the larger batches in front of them. They were all quite an array of different shapes, some bumpy, or disfigured, or sporting a green wart. 

“Pick one,” Richie simply said. “We’ll put them in our baskets, get some food, and we’ll take this back to the Clubhouse.”

Eddie’s hands hovered over a massive pumpkin. “The Clubhouse?”

“Yeah, I have an idea,” Richie beamed. “We’re not staying there, well, unless you want to. There’s a little patch of dirt right next to it that’s perfect for other things.” The boy squinted up into his coke-bottle glasses, trying to search for the outline of his plan.

“It’s not fair that I don’t get to know what we’re doing.” He scooped up the crop into his skinny arms and stood up. Richie shined his flashlight over the other bumpy ones. 

“Well, it’s more fun if it’s a surprise, don’tcha think?” he replied, then chose a pumpkin with a long—almost curling inward in a spiral— stem. “Look, this one’s pretty creepy.” He picked it up, snuggled it close to his chest and aimed the flashlight he held at Eddie. “Well, that’s the first part of my plan finished. Come, come, lad. Now we eat.” Richie marched onward, surveying his flashlight toward the way they’d come. Eddie listened to the sound of chirping crickets, then stood semi-alert for any sort of creature in the night, or an angry farmer cocking his shotgun at a couple of dumb kids who decided to steal their family crops. A killer clown would have been worse.

“Where to now?” Eddie’s eyebrows furrowed. “You didn’t tell me to bring any money!” Richie tossed a free hand in the air, brushing off his worries.

“Don’t worry Eds, I’m paying tonight. My treat. And besides, we’re taking our meal to go.” Eddie cradled his pumpkin further.

“Why not just eat at the restaurant?”

There was a beat of silence, like Richie was pondering the right words to say. “Because, it’s better when it’s just us. No strangers in the place with us.”

Eddie nodded, though, Richie couldn’t see. He used a free hand to adjust his beanie. “Pizza would’ve been fine.”

“No, I wanted to get a pumpkin pie milkshake. They have those now.” Eddie's face twisted up.

“Ugh, do you know how many calories are in those? And they have artificial growth hormones, that’s like so disgusting because they don’t even use _real pumpkin_ in that.”

“Eddie! You’re killing my fall boner right now!” Richie exclaimed, throwing a feigned irritated look at him from over his shoulder. 

“Your _what?”_ Eddie squeaked. His arms were kind of hurting from carrying this thing, but he didn't want to tell Richie that. “Dumbass. That’s not a thing!”

“Yeah it is. I invented it. And you just killed it.” 

“No way. I’m just saying. Pumpkin milkshakes are corn syrup filled _frauds._ It’s all fake pumpkin and even more milk than a regular milkshake. It’s _worse_ than a regular milkshake! _Canned_ pumpkin. Ugh, I feel sick just thinking about it. They cover up all of that with cinnamon, too. Just get a regular milkshake, that’s way better for you. There’s no gross corn syrup in those and way less weird hormones that sick companies put in them! You’re definitely gonna get diabetes from that shit. Ugh. What kind of person _chooses_ pumpkin flavored things anyway?” Eddie’s face twisted up sourly. They exited the cornfield, finding themselves back in the car park entrance, where a field of wheat was nearby, containing their hidden bikes. “

“Uh, me!” Richie scoffed. “And sorry, I was too busy thinking about how hard that pumpkin pie shake is gonna rock my tastebuds to listen to your dumb little rant about health.”

“Well, dipshit, when you’re puking gross fake pumpkin barf all over your room, you’re not gonna think it’s so dumb anymore. I mean, literally anything else is so much better for you.”

“What _ever._ I’m not forcing you to get their delicious, mouth-watering, succulent, fake-pumpkin shakes. You can get anything you want. The world is your oyster.” Richie dropped his pumpkin by his feet to pull out the vehicle from the tall feet of wheat. Once stabilized, the teenager grabbed the stem of the plant, and placed it carefully into the wicker basket of the bike. He turned around, watching Eddie place his own pumpkin in the basket. Richie clicked off his flashlight and stuffed it into his backpack, then clicked on the bike lights, to which his friend did the same with his own. The beam of the lights lit up their jeans, both dusted with dirt from either the corn stalks or kneeling in the crops.

“I’m getting anything else _but_ pumpkin,” he responded. Richie rolled his eyes, and the pair mounted their bicycles, heading off into the darkness, wheeling onto the empty road where just their laughter echoed off of each other, pedaling for another while.

* * *

They arrived at the familiar clearing that contained the Clubhouse, still buzzing with that rush of adrenaline; the roads near Derry’s local diner were quite busy compared to the more rural side of town. And, truly, like an idiot, Richie Tozier with the brain the size of a peanut, kicked the pedals on his bike and drove hazardously across the roads all while laughing and whooping like the insane fifteen year old he was. Cars honked, irritated, and swerved all to avoid the sudden teenager who dared to rush across traffic. On the other side, remained a screaming, shocked Eddie Kaspbrak, who, with one cup of Dr. Pepper in his hand, vomited profanity after profanity at his stupid friend. Richie, who was now on the other side of the road, waved at him with a wild smile split across his face, clearly pleased with his own stunt.

“Richard, you fucking idiot!” Eddie yelled over the roar of whizzing cars. Richie pointed at his own ears and shook his head.

“Can’t hear you! Get over here, Eds! What are you waiting for?” he screamed back, breathing hard on his bicycle.

The woods were much quieter than hurling traffic. They’d left their bikes near the entrance of the forest; Eddie carried their drinks and operated the flashlight while Richie maintained the heavy pumpkins in both arms. Eddie observed his friend’s wild, wind-blown dark hair, fluffed in every which way. He knew that on his face there remained that satisfied grin— one that craved _adventure_ , one that was truly living. And, on Eddie’s face too, was a giddy smile. His chest was rising and falling fast, heart beating rapidly from the transpiring events. 

Eddie spotted the Clubhouse, but Richie was walking beyond that, so he followed suit. He wondered if he was sick of carrying those heavy things.

“I can’t believe you did that,” Eddie laughed, breathless. “You could have died.”

“Well, that wouldn’t be the first time,” Richie chuckled. 

“Right,” the other boy said. He caught up to his friend so that they walked side by side, and Richie _definitely_ ignored the way their elbows brushed by each other. He spared a glance at him, and Eddie glanced back, beaming with this newfound surge of energy. This, _this_ moment felt right- Richie and Eddie. Just them. There was no feeling better than this. Sloppy kisses with tipsy girls at a dance still never felt as captivating as this. The taller boy’s eyes lingered, and his face suddenly felt warm.

“You’re short,” he blurted. Because. _That’s . . . Good one, Rich Stop stop stop._ Eddie raised his eyebrows, and that soft expression suddenly melted away. 

“Wow, thanks,” he responded blankly, and Richie's lips shut immediately in a tight line, feeling incredibly stupid, because that shattered the quiet moment they were having. He averted his gaze from his face before he could make the situation any worse.

“Oh look, we’re here.”

The duo stopped, and Eddie shined the flashlight at a pile of logs in the middle of the clearing. The sound of crickets echoed throughout the trees, and the sudden falter in movement already was beginning to make the germaphobe antsy. He heard a strange click of noise, then peered over at Richie who was now, surprisingly, holding a lit match over the firewood. He let the wood fall between his fingers, until the logs caught fire. The flames engulfed the whole of the sticks and branches, and Eddie clicked off the flashlight, handing it back to his best friend who, smelled slightly like lighter fluid. The heat attracted the pair closer, and they both released exhilarated sighs of relief at the comforting warmth enrapturing them.

Silently, Eddie passed over Richie’s milkshake and food, while he sipped on his soda and let the dancing flames of the bonfire enchant him. The teenagers used the wax paper given to them as a placemat. Richie laid down his apple strudel and double cheeseburger while, naturally, Eddie judged him.

“Are you seriously going to eat all that?” he inquired while chomping down on some greasy fries. Richie sucked down on his straw; a close-eyed blissful expression upon his face at the miraculous flavor of his milkshake.

“I’m in the fall spirit, Eddie,” he replied, still in that giddy expression. “It’s so fucking good.”

Eddie rolled his eyes and chewed down on his burger, soothing the growling ache in his stomach that he hadn’t realized he had because of his time spent with Richie. 

“You’re going to regret that tomorrow morning.”

“Definitely not. _You’re_ going to regret not having a sip of this goodness.” 

“Yeah, nope. I’m sticking to my soda.”

“Like that’s any better than a milkshake.”

“Better than _pumpkin_ ,” Eddie retorted. Richie took a massive, obnoxious slurp of his pumpkin shake in response.

After finishing off their meals, and sharing the apple strudel, Eddie remembered their first adventure of the night and the two pumpkins in their grasp.

“What are we doing with those things?” Rich’s eyes lit up behind his giant glasses. He reached behind him and hoisted the two massive shapes close to them so that the fire’s glare spotlighted them.

“I’m so glad you asked, Spaghetti Man.” Eddie’s expression was one piqued of curiosity. His friend reached behind him for the fruits of their labor and placed them in between the two of them. Eddie’s pumpkin had a stem that was quite straight and short; the shape of the orange just a little bit bumpy. Richie’s had that spiral-like stem, but his pumpkin still had bits of dirt on it that needed to be brushed off. He shrugged off his backpack, withholding the sight from his partner, and pulled out the pumpkin kit tools he’d taken earlier. Eddie stretched his neck to see what his friend was doing, but would risk getting caught in the fire if he leaned any more to the left. The embers danced off of Rich’s hair, and he could see the glint of brown highlights that were often not seen unless they were standing in direct sunlight. It was, cool. 

Richie looked back at him, holding what looked like a giant spoon in one hand and a spear knife in the other. “What?” he asked, blinking at Eddie behind those magnified lenses. Eddie was watching him with a strange face.

“Nothing. So, what? Are we carving these things?” Richie looked down at the two massive pumpkins, and grabbed one into his lap.

“Close!” he replied. “We’re turning these things into jack-o-masks!” Eddie’s eyes widened, a smile forming on his lips.

“Are you kidding?”

“Nope!” Richie scooted farther from the heat source, bringing the wide plant with him. Eddie turned his body to watch, and Richie began his demonstration of how to turn these massive shits into helmets.

“Dude, this is so unsanitary. You know how many germs are inside these things?”

“Lighten up. We’re gonna scoop out the pumpkin brains.” Eddie’s nose crinkled up as Richie flipped his pumpkin upside down and stabbed the knife into the bottom. He watched his friend carve out a circle, hearing the crunch of the pumpkin shell as he shimmied the blade back and forth. Eddie tapped his fingers tentatively on his own craft project, simply observing what his friend was doing. Richie reached into his backpack and gave his friend another giant spoon and knife. “Just follow my lead!”

He moved his garbage out of the way to scoot over closer to Eddie. There they were, knee to knee, sitting with pumpkins in their lap in front of the fire. Richie scrutinized his face which was concentrated on him and his carving skills. He could smell the apple strudel lingering on Eddie’s hoodie. It was nice. 

He put a hand on Eddie’s knee, then showed him the gaping hole in the bottom of the pumpkin, still filled with orange guts and seeds. Eddie startled for a moment and pressed his lips together.

“That looks like shit.” 

“Cry me a river, Eds,” he teased. “Come on, don’t just stare at me all night. I know I’m totally irresistible, but this is important.” 

He rolled his eyes and averted his gaze to his own, muttering a quiet _dick_.He traced the sharp edge in a circle around the bottom of the pumpkin, etching out white lines before beginning his own incision process. Unlike Rich’s, which had jagged edges, Eddie’s would be nice and precise. He picked up the handle of the knife and punctured his outline. From there, he began to saw up and down, following the wide pattern.

“Ma would never let me do this,” he commented while carefully continuing the motions. Richie glanced up, scooping out the innards of his pumpkin and tossing it with exaggerated force toward the trees. “She’d get paranoid I’d cut myself or get poisoned by pumpkin fumes.”

“Yeah, I know,” his friend replied. “Well, you have to live a little sometimes.” Eddie successfully carved out a full circle. He lifted the skin with his blade, then flicked it off toward the fire. He was greeted by rows of seeds that almost resemble teeth and the sticky orange insides of the fruit. He scrunched his face up.

“Oh, gross,” he said. “Maybe she was right.” He picked up his spoon and stabbed it inside, cringing at the squelchy sound it made. 

“Hey, slowpoke,” Richie piped up, setting aside his now hollow— and complete with an evil, narrow eyed smile— pumpkin and scooching even closer to Eddie so that they were touching shoulders. He could feel Eddie’s breath on him. “Let me help you.”

“No way, I can do this myself,” Eddie insisted, gently elbowing him aside. He didn’t quite want to back down. “You’re just gonna mess it all up.”

“What? No I’m not, just—” Richie took the pumpkin from his lap and dug his spoon around the edges, disconnecting the strands of orange from the shell itself. “See? Speeding things up.” Eddie huffed.

“Whatever.” Richie began humming while the two scooped out the excess together. He occasionally stole glances at Eddie’s face, at his faint freckles and tightened lips. Eddie had always had such a concentrated face— it stemmed from years of consistently worrying about well, everything. And that, in itself, was fun to tease. 

In no time, Eddie’s project was completely void of any pumpkin intestines and much lighter than before when they walked into the woods. “Pretty cool,” he murmured. Richie leaned forward _really close_ and tapped his friend on the nose.

“And you have me to thank for that.” Eddie grinned, _a totall_ _y_ _irritated grin, that is._ He looked at Rich’s smiling, always smug face. 

“So now what?”

“Carve a face in her! How else are you gonna see and breathe?” Richie stood up, and left Eddie feeling slightly disappointed at the lack of human warmth beside him. So, Eddie decided to carve out a generic jack-o-lantern expression. His companion walked over to his own head, putting down his spectacles, then giddily plopping the pumpkin onto his _actual_ head. The scent smelled of, well, _pumpkin,_ and his peripheral vision protested with the blockage. The weight was unusual, but Richie didn’t mind. From another perspective, someone would see a teenage boy wearing a creepily carved pumpkin head with a spiraling stem coming out of it. It was quite an entertaining costume. He faced toward the trees, excited with his craftsmanship. Then, once he quelled his overly happy emotions, he turned around to face the sitting, focused Kaspbrak boy, and, in a gravelly low, raspy voice, shouted, _”RAWRRR!”_ until his throat rumbled from the growl.

Eddie shrieked out a startled yelp, jumping in his seat and pushing away his unfinished creation as his friend popped up in his personal space, hands out to resemble claws. He stood up, hand on his chest and a displeased expression on his face and puffed up cheeks. 

Richie lifted the pumpkin from his head, smiling cheekily at his best friend who only stared with feigned annoyance. Richie’s smile fell only slightly, as his chest and abdomen warmed up gleefully. The feeling burned, not unpleasantly, but in retaliation, he leaned forward, letting the pumpkin mask fall completely over his face as he pinched Eddie’s cheeks— “So cute, cute, cute, Eds!” The boy in the beanie yelped out in protest, pushing his clawing fingers away from him while the rest of Richie’s body then engulfed him in an ultimate ‘Richie-esque’ bear hug warmer than the fire beside them.

“Stop doing that, idiot!” yelled Eddie, with a flustered smile, right as Richie’s pumpkin head roared and emitted various ‘monster noises’ at him. His arms were secured tightly around Eddie’s waist and his head pretending to bite and chew at the rest of him. Eddie’s boisterous laugh echoed off of the trees, filling Richie’s ear with music and further encouraging him.

“Rawrrrr! I’m gonna eat your yummy kidneys, I’m the pumpkin monster!” the more rambunctious of the two teased in one of those ridiculous voices of his. Richie smashed his pumpkin face in his friend’s back, his neck and screeched until his throat was raw and his stomach was bubbling from childish glee. The other was giggling, gaining goosebumps with his friend’s physical contact, and so desperately masking his joy with feigned displeasure. Eddie gained the courage to shove his friend off, and he stumbled backward, cackling happily even as he fell on his ass. The teen lifted off his mask, still laughing, and laying his eyes onto his best friend— his Eddie. 

Richie wiped sweat that was forming on his skin off of his face, breathing out into the cool air as the wind lapped against his flushed cheeks. “Damn, Eds! You sure know how to knock the wind out of a fella,” he breathed out, smiling up at the other teenager standing. Eddie’s eyebrows quirked up abashedly, his cheeks still red as the fire.

“Sorry,” he breathed out, abashedly. “Didn’t mean to shove you like that.” Richie stuck his tongue out. His face was flushed from the heat inside the makeshift mask; red cheeks, red nose and naked, _naked_ eyes completely bare of coke bottle glasses. Well, Richie had a nice face. 

“Psh,” he responded, waving him off and blinking away the blurriness. “You’re lucky you look just like a little blob right now. Then I’d _really_ get you.” Eddie squinted at him, smirking momentarily.

“That just means I have an advantage of doing this—” Eddie, taking advantage of his eyesight, swooped in, tackling the boy in a not so hostile chokehold, sending Richie into another fit of cackling laughter as they wrestled about on the forest floor. 

“Motherfucker!” he shouted amongst the ruffling. Eddie took hold of his arm and used it to sloppily hit himself in the face, pinning down his squirming body with his other arm.

“Why are you hitting yourself? Why are you hitting yourself Rich?” he mocked, blowing air into his ear. Richie shouted out in protest, kicking his feet while hopelessly stifling back more laughter.

“Jesus, Eds!” he panted out, “I can’t breathe! When the hell did you get so strong?”

“Puberty,” he hummed, amidst the struggle, “Stop hitting yourself dumbass!” The pair went at it; Richie struggling to free himself from the smaller boy’s chokehold, and their bickering consisted of teasing and barking that echoed throughout the woods.

“Your mom chokes me harder than this!”

“Oh yeah? Your sister wasn’t complaining about it last night!” 

“That’s where you were? No wonder! Your mom kept me up til’ dawn!”

“Dickface! Take that back!”

“No, you take it back!”

“No, you!”

“No, you!”

“No, you!”

“Alright!” Eddie halted, both of them breathing heavy from their never-ceasing bickering. He relaxed his hold on the Loudmouth, hearing out the rest of what he had to say. Richie blinked his blurry eyesight, shit-eating grin ever present on his lips. “You win.”

With a smug look, Eddie slowly slithered his arm off of him, allowing the other to stand to his feet, albeit having to use his friend as a stabilizer due to his poor, swirling vision. Eddie’s arms crossed and Richie bowed dramatically.

“I surrender.”

“Ha!” Eddie readjusted his beanie, then wiped off the dirt on his clothes. “Eat that, Tozier. I got _you_ for once.”

Richie nodded his head, putting his hands up in that surrender pose. His chest and shoulders rose up and down with the energy he got racing. “You’re absolutely right.” He turned around, searching the forest floor for his glasses while they got the heat out of their system. Then, fishing out the bed sheets from his backpack while they were still a safe distance away from their bonfire, he whipped the sheets out into the air, flowing gracefully onto Eddie’s body.

“The hell’s this? What’re you doing?”

“Trust me. Don’t move, I promise I’m not gonna push you into the fire.”

“Okay, well, now I don’t trust you.” Richie had a few more tools left in his bag, which contained scissors and a trusty polaroid. Eddie Kaspbrak stood still while Richie approached with a pair of scissors in his hand. He placed a gloved hand on what he presumed to be his friend’s face. “God, are these your sheets? You better have washed them before you put them on me!” He began complaining _again._ Richie put a finger on what he thought to be his eyes.

“Dick! That’s my eye!” _Ah._

“Just, trust me.” Taking the piece of fabric between his fingers, the boy carefully, _oh so carefully,_ snipped the sheet right between the blades. Then, peeking out from the hole was the young boy’s eye.

“Hi, Eddie.”

“What the fuck?” And quickly, before any more protests, Richie cut out the other eye hole. “Oh my god, are we ghosts?” Richie backed off, began laughing once the younger picked his arms up in a very haunting position. Eddie turned around, haunting the forest.

“Okay, this is cool,” he confessed, smiling beneath his costume. He looked toward his own pumpkin, still unfinished, but at least had an eye done. “Hey Rich, look at this.” Eddie picked up the mask and plopped it onto his head. He turned around to stare at his friend. _“Pumpkin GhoOoOooST!”_ he spooked, stretching his arms out in a very spirit-like gesture, The other boy barked out a laugh at the act; the corners of his mouth meeting his ears.

Taking advantage of the wonderful sight, Richie picked up his camera and _click!_ The flash startled Eddie, who was a haunting pumpkin spirit right now, _apparently_. It was an intriguing sight; a small half pumpkin-monster, half-apparition running around a campfire in the woods. Richie chuckled.

“You’re too cute,” he breathlessly said, without any indication of a joke in his voice, and immediately cleared his throat after, switching to his usual tone of voice. _"Just too, too cute!”_ He lowered the camera, waiting for the picture to print out as Eddie haunted their campgrounds. The boy took the photograph out, sticking it in his jeans pocket, then found another opportunity for a better picture in which Eddie was standing right by the fire, arms flat by his side as a menacing kind of creature. He flashed another photo. 

He took off his craft and let the sheets fall to the ground, then sighed so it was just Eddie Kaspbrak instead of a hybrid spirit. “That thing is hot,” he admitted. “Where’s your ghost?” Richie glanced up as Eddie approached and quickly snapped a picture. “What the hell? Stop doing that.”

Richie smiled, reached into his back pocket and handed him the small icon of the pumpkin ghost. Eddie chuckled. “Oh, nice.” 

“Eh, I think I’m good, actually. You make a better ghost than me.” Richie waited for the current photo to finish developing as he spoke. They both walked back to the fire, sitting side by side while basking in the heat. Eddie’s smile was still prominent while he gazed into the flames, his beanie freed a few pieces of curly hair from around his forehead and ears. With still quite a bit of film left, Rich scooted back and raised his polaroid, capturing the essence and beauty of that singular picture. Eddie blinked from the flash, then hit his friend in the arm.

“Stop taking pictures of me!”

“Can’t help it!” he replied. “You’re photo worthy.”

Eddie scoffed and rolled his eyes. “So _weird._ ” Richie smiled at that. He tapped his finger repetitively against the camera as he waited for the film to develop in the next few seconds, the quiet whir of the gears turning as a comfortable silence bloomed between them, save for the fire’s consistent crackling, and Richie could not keep his eyes off of the still forming, ever evanescent moment of his Eddie. Freckles and all, beanie snug, and concentrated eyebrows; a perfect view of how he saw him. He swallowed, snuck a peek at him and _just fell right in._ It was hard to quell the thrums of his heart, and oh so difficult to pretend they weren’t there. Eddie was talking again, something distant and chatty and he had no idea what about. His eyes dropped down to his photograph while the echo of Eddie’s voice resonated around him. _Do I want to pretend?_

He was right there, and Richie wanted to kiss him. Some random, shit-faced sophomore girl pressing her lips to his wasn’t the same, because he wished it was an Eddie and not an Eleanor. But. _Your dirty little secret._ He pushed that thought aside, put the photo in his back pocket. He thought of the permanent carvings he'd left on the Kissing Bridge; anonymous, but still gratifying to announce to the world nonetheless. 

He felt Eddie’s head come into contact with his shoulder. Richie looked down, holding his breath when his friend relaxed into him. Eddie let out a tired yawn, and like that, the night time high that they both shared began crashing down, and Richie felt that fear once more; an end of a night, a time closer to the end of being young. There was so much time being compressed further and further, and Eddie was right by him, leaning into him, watching the fire with hazy eyes. Richie had too many fears about the future and what it entails. Time was going by entirely too fast, and eventually, the end of their century was about to come as well, and he’d have to face the unknown; be an adult. Marriage. Children. It was a thought too taxing to think about. His stomach twisted. Would Eddie even be a part of that? Would the rest of the Losers? Where would they all go?

“This was fun,” Eddie mumbled, letting his eyes shut while the heat lulled him. “You smell like a rotting pumpkin though.” 

“You love it,” Richie distantly answered, slouching. Eddie tsked. He was warm, oh so warm, and their adventure flickered out his energy. It was incredible how fast his mood had altered once there wasn’t enough noise to block it out. His mind had never wandered so far when he was thirteen, so why did it have to scream so loud now?

“What do you think’s gonna happen when,” Richie swallowed. “When we leave this town?”

“When we leave?”

“Yeah, I mean, you’re not planning to raise kids in _Derry,_ are you?” he half-laughed. Richie shut his eyes. Eddie thought for a minute, noting the shift in moods and incredibly unsure about the thought of children, especially at fifteen.

“Probably not. Are you?”

“Fuck no,” Richie quickly said. “I mean, I don’t even know. Mike’s thinking about . . . Florida. And, everyone is getting their shit together I just-” He paused, pressing his lips together. Eddie lifted his chin, listening, because this was serious, and _god,_ that meant something. “Well. I just feel lost.” His voice fell. “Everything is moving too fast and soon we won’t be kids anymore and I don’t think I’m fucking ready to move on from that.”

Eddie blinked, flashing in and out of consciousness as he listened, yet, he understood. He breathed out a quiet sigh.

“I don’t know either,” he admitted. “I don’t know how to do a lot of things. Ma kept that from me. I’m not ready to do . . . a lot of things.”

“Like, what?” Eddie thought for a moment, thought about kissing, thought about sex, about driving a car, about paying taxes or whatever the hell insurance was. All of that.

“Everything.” Richie hummed, then leaned into Eddie. He sighed contentedly, not quite thinking about their proximity. The other breathed out evenly. “We still have time. At least some left, why are you thinking so hard on it?”

“Because it feels like we _don’t,”_ Richie mumbled. “No one has time for each other anymore, except me and you.”

“That’s not totally true. I’m pretty sure the others would’ve been free to hang today.” _Well._ Richie laughed, because maybe he was right. But, Richie’s feelings felt all sorts of contradictory right now, and right now feeling bitter about the other Losers always being busy, and feeling all sorts of crazy emotions for Eddie were overlapping terribly.

“Maybe I just wanted to be with you tonight.” That slipped out of his mouth without any edge of a joke in it, entirely too cheesy, too genuine, and Richie felt his lips tighten up and skin go red again. Eddie moved his head, probably to glance up at him, but Richie turned his own head away, avoiding that dark stare he always had. So, Eddie clicked his tongue.

“Shut up. I thought we were being for real.” 

“I am!”

“Then stop it with your dumb jokes,” he criticized. “Rich.” His voice softened, and the boy pushed up his glasses with his free hand and felt inclined to move in to him again. He let his cheek relax on the top of his head, the fabric of the beanie scratching at his jaw. “We can always talk to them.”

“Yeah I know,” he sighed. “I know.”

“But?”

“But,” he paused. “But, we’re still getting old. The memories will go away, _this night_ is gonna go away, and I . . . I don’t want them to.” He clenched his teeth. Eddie was silent at that, because, well, what else was there to say? Stopping memories from fading from the brain was impossible. Richie was never this sensitive, and Eddie wondered how long this had been eating away at him. 

“I get it,” he said. “We just . . . just have to make the most of it.” _Shitty advice, asshole. How is that supposed to make him feel any better?_

“Right,” Richie muttered, thinking of so many things he should just risk. He glanced up at the sky, wondered if it was perhaps around one in the morning now. 

“I couldn’t ever forget you though,” Eddie said. “Not even when I have wrinkles and can’t shit by myself anymore.” Richie chuckled a bit at that. “You’re too impossible to forget.” There was a beat of silence, and damn, his chest couldn’t take that _real,_ authentic sentence. This _feeling._ What a waste would it be if he let it suffer inside instead of let it breathe? Wasn’t _he_ the one _whining_ about running out of time?

“And you’re my little Spaghetti Man,” he cooed. “I could never forget you, my love. You’re too cute to forget.” Eddie perked up his head and turned to scowl at him in the light. Richie’s expression had some sorrow present; a light grin, wandering eyes that were entirely fixated on Eddie. He watched as his pupils grew wider, and the color in his face deepened. Eddie shook his head in disbelief. _Running out of time to be young._

“I meant it,” Richie blurted, causing his friend to peek back up at him. The Trashmouth had a hand on his arm and leant forward, breathing out unevenly now, and Eddie watched his eyes shift anywhere but him. He gazed down at the hand on his arm, felt his breath halt, then looked up and tried to meet his own eyes, but they were still looking elsewhere.

“I-”

“Spit it out,” Eddie hissed, suddenly antsy, heart thrumming in speed and a hopeful edge to his voice. Richie’s oddly worried expression came back. He saw the troubled angles of his eyebrows, the wide brown eyes behind his frames, the quivering lips, all existing at that very moment. He could feel the warmth radiating from his hand on his arm, wondered so many things, _and felt_ a million things at once. 

“I- I meant it. I could,” he trailed off, and Eddie did not miss the way his eyes darted down, to his lips, to his nose, back up to his eyes; the small lick of his lips that made him question _is this real, are we real, is this?_ And _I want to kiss him._

It’s his hand that does it; glides all the way up his arm, wraps around the back of his neck, pulls him in, and Richie angles his mouth right against Eddie’s, blissfully breathing him in with a sigh, with an almost relieved cry that starts in the back of his throat and travels to Eddie’s mouth. There’s an overwhelming emotion that explodes throughout Richie, like one of sadness and happiness and fear all laced into one, except it feels amped up to one-thousand percent.

He tastes the apple strudel on his lips, feels Eddie’s fingers thread through the belt loops on his jeans and pull him closer and Richie thinks he might just sob out of relief. He pushes with more force against his mouth, buzzes sweetly against the taste, and the flames in his abdomen burn hotter and hotter with every touch. 

He wants to drink it all in when Eddie’s hands leave his hips and curl into his hair, wants to press further with the way Eddie bites his lips back, but laughs when his glasses are smushed by Eddie’s eager nose. There’s an awkward bump of bones, and a short mutter of ‘sorry’ but there’s nothing that ruins the passion of the moment. Nothing that numbs the growing lust and love in their cores.

Richie runs his gloved thumb across his freckle scattered cheek and feels the tears in his eyes burn. There is something in the back of his head that is ecstatic; _has been yearning_ for just _this._ His heart thudded loudly in his ears, in his chest, _everywhere,_ and that dizzy feeling is eating him. It’s _Eddie,_ after all, and _Eddie_ kissing him in the middle of October, in the middle of the woods with no person in sight, no clown, no Bowers, just them and them alone.

Richie parted for a moment; the explosion of emotions coming through his eyes, taking in a breath as the tears rolled down his foggy glasses, his cheeks, and he muttered a quick, “Shit,” just to wipe away with the heel of his palms. Eddie was staring at him as if all the stars in the galaxy were present on his face; a look of disbelief, and _god, is this real?_

Their faces were blooming red, breathing rapid, and eyes wild because _boundaries were crossed and god, is this real?_

“Rich?” A quiet, gentle sound, breathless. Eddie tried to move his head closer.

“Don’t worry about me, Eds,” he mumbled, pressing his eyes into the sleeve of his shirt. “Jesus, just . . .” Eddie lifted a hand, letting it fall to his friend’s knee. 

“What’s wrong?” Richie snickered, forcing out a smile while the waterfall kept flowing, simply triggered by that simple question. _God, I’m such a fucking pussy._

“Oh shit, sorry, I didn’t mean to—” Eddie winced, scooching forward.

“You’re fine!” Richie forcefully enthused. “Don’t mind me. Really.”

“Well,” Eddie stammered. “I mean, you just kissed me and then started crying.” Richie stiffened up, biting his sleeve to keep from exploding. “Which, I— I think that’s an expected response from anyone who _would_ kiss me!” Richie laughed again through tears. Eddie fruitlessly tried to comfort him, with, well, what better way to comfort a comedian than with humor?

“Fucking hell, Eds, no way,” he said, sniffling. “No way. I’m okay, really. Anyone should feel real lucky to kiss you.” Eddie tried to capture his attention, tried to get his eyes to look at him, even if they were puffed up and red. “I’m just, fuck, just getting the emotions out, you know.” Eddie thought, maybe, just, maybe—

He wrapped his arms around him, squeezing gently and propping his chin on his shoulder, just as a real, humorless, broken sob came out of Richie. The boy’s arms wrapped around him right back, holding on tight as Eddie embraced him. They stayed like that, Richie completely letting loose the stress of growing up, the pent up feelings of love that have wrecked him for years now, one that was completely shut down by that fucking clown and Bowers’ stupid fucking cousin and the whole world. 

“I like you,” Richie mumbled, letting out the entire truth right there through his distressed voice. Tears seemed to fall even faster at the confession, like a weight being lifted. “I fucking like you.” Eddie’s eyes fluttered close, and realized that those were words he hadn’t ever known he wanted to hear; words that squeezed his heart and stomach. “Please don’t be fucking with me right now.” And Eddie laughed, wracked with disbelief, because absolutely not, how could he?

“Idiot, I’m not.” He squeezed tighter. “I’m not fucking with you.” And Richie’s body relaxed. Eddie pulled away from him and examined his stricken expression, so full of want, questions, and adoration. There was no need for words; they understood each other better than anyone else could. They knew. It was them, it was Richie and Eddie, their dynamic, just _them._

* * *

_4:13 am_

Richie watched as Eddie stuffed his bicycle into a garden hedge, then climbed up a tree to crawl back into his window. From above, he caught his gaze, waving goodbye with dark circles under his eyes and a goofy grin ever so present. As the lights in his bedroom clicked off, the young Tozier child rode off, albeit extremely sleep deprived, toward the direction of his own home.

He managed to climb back onto the awning, awkwardly crouch-walking his way back to the window and tossed himself onto his sheetless bed. While he was flat on his back, the teenager pushed down the window with a free arm and sighed contentedly. He kicked off his shoes so that they shot toward his trash riddled desk, then relaxed onto his mattress. The shoes hit the table with a clatter, yet the teenager didn’t quite mind. He was too busy reaching into his back pocket and pulling out the image of his Eddie, a frozen in time moment of Eddie Kaspbrak in the moment, simply being there next to a toasty fire in the middle of the woods. Wasn’t it such a sight to behold? The corners of his mouth lifted up, presenting a warm, genuine smile. 

Richie held the photo to his chest, letting his eyes shut and breathe, despite the anticipation of the unknown; of future responsibilities, of future ‘what ifs’ and ‘maybe nots’. Right now, he was living in this moment and making much of his time. And this little snippet, that moment, was latched onto his memory; something unforgettable and remarkable that he couldn’t ever forget, even when he grew old. His fears were still prominent, still churning rapidly in the back of his head.

But that was simply too much to think about, too far away of a worry when the taste of apple and the smell of pumpkins and campfire were still much more fresh in your mind. 

With warm lips and sweet eyes and stupid bickering filling his brain, there was just no room to think of negatives.

So for now, like the photograph in his hands, stuck in the present and too busy living to think of the future, he thought of _Eddie_ and not children, or taxes, or fast-moving time. This is fine. This is his present. 

He breathed out evenly, and turned on his side, and stared out the window toward an ever so slowly brightening sky. _“We’ll make the most of it. You and I.”_

**Author's Note:**

> title is the lyrics from the song _oh klahoma - jack stauber ___  
> mainly because the trend that inspired this fic often had that song to go along with it.
> 
> _last year, I went on a marathon of reading reddie fics and always wanted to write my own, but a lot of my favorites satisfied all the tropes I wanted. this year was different, and im happy to have poured my heart into this one._  
>  _hope you enjoyed! <_
> 
> _  
> _pls comment I love to read them !!_  
>  _  
> 


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